Becoming Real
by Identity-Unknown
Summary: Alice returns from abroad to the realization that someone important is missing - and England doesn't feel like home anymore. Preparing to return to Underland, she is surprised to meet Lord Ascot's new guest, the oddly inscrutable Lord Tarrant H. MacAtter.


**Becoming Real**

"_You might have loved me, if you had known me. If you had ever known my mind. If you would have walked through my dreams and memories. Who knows what treasures you might have found. Yes, you might have loved me. If only you had taken the time." - Anonymous?_

**Chapter One:** _Goodbye Ordinary_

**A** triumphant Alice Kingsleigh was finally home from her long trip abroad - and all she wanted to do was go to her rooms and be _alone_.

It seemed as if her entire journey she had been surrounded by people, people who were asking both endless questions, and questioning her competency endlessly. Their alternating eagerness and doubt had been enervating.

Alice had offered her mother and sister a weak smile after arriving in the grand foyer, and excused herself from the impending tea she knew they had planned. She'd waved off their protests and questions, and wearily climbed the stairs, claiming to be exhausted.

Alice had taken a seat before her small writing desk, waited impatiently for the footmen to deliver her trunk and bags, hatboxes, and leather satchel, and shooed away the snooping maid eager to unpack for her.

She'd just taken her first breath of relief when tea was resolutely brought to her, and she bit her tongue until the servant deposited the silver tray on the small round table in her sitting room. When he left, Alice closed the door behind him and locked it, pocketing the key.

Alone at last, Alice crossed to the doors leading out to her private balcony overlooking her mother's gardens. She looked out over the extensive sea of green and was glad she had arrived in the midst of spring. Everything looked alive and fresh, the colors vibrant, the new growth riotous - it almost reminded her of Underland.

Alice sat on the edge of a window seat and began to absently unbutton her long blue traveling coat. Underland. She hadn't had much time to think about her last adventure there. It was hard to believe one could not feel alone even on a ship in the middle of a vast ocean.

Leaving the well-worn coat laying across the window seat, Alice stood and went to one of her stacks of parcels the maid had begun removing from her trunk. She unwrapped two brown paper packages before she found what she sought - a small, ornately-framed miniature. The oil-painting was round, and smaller than the palm of her hand, but it was beautiful, framed in tarnished sterling, and clearly of excellent quality.

Walking back to the window seat, Alice sat, and examined the portrait closely in the late afternoon light. Its subject was a lovely but solemn young man, his hair thick and dark, his skin pale but perfect. He had dark eyes as well, outlined with heavy, wicked lashes, and his lips were a warm pink and almost heart-shaped.

Not for the first time since she'd come into possession of the miniature, Alice allowed her eyes to linger on the portraits expressive eyes. The artist had been a master at his craft indeed, to be able to catch such deep emotion on flat canvas. The young man was heart-breakingly exquisite, but he held such distrust and pain in his eyes.

Alice touched a hesitant fingertip to the domed glass covering the miniature, and smiled. Truthfully, though she did appreciate the portraits beauty, she had bought the trinket because it had reminded her strongly of someone. She hadn't been able to pin down just who until _after_ she'd purchased it from the abrasive street vendor who'd demanded an outrageous sum for it.

Annoyed at the memory of the audacious man and his impossible attempts to haggle, Alice again wondered at how the precious thing had ended up in his greedy hands. She thought perhaps that it had been stolen, passed hands several times, before ending up in the tiny stall near the Shanghai waterfront. She couldn't imagine anyone parting with it willingly - it was obvious it had once been quite dear to someone, or rather its subject had been.

Sighing, Alice turned it over in her hands, something she'd done dozens of times, searching for any clue that might tell her the identity of the young man, but there was not even a silversmith's hallmark. The only hint she could find was the design on the front of the frame, elaborate, plaid be-ribboned thistles. He could be from a Scottish family, she supposed. An old family, she amended, noting that his ruffled cravat had not been in style for _several_ decades - which sadly meant that he was most likely long gone from this world.

The sense of sorrow she felt at that thought made her want to know his identity all the more.

"Surely someone is missing you," she said, turning the frame in her hands. Alice eyed the cracked leather backing of the tiny frame, wondering yet again if she dared to open it - but she worried that she might damage the painting somehow.

Resisting temptation for the moment, Alice rose and carefully stood the frame on top of her writing desk. Once again she was struck by the similarity of the young man in the painting to her dear old friend, Tarrant Hightopp - or as he was better known in Underland - the Mad Hatter.

Oh, of course he didn't resemble the man in the painting in coloring, not at all, but the resemblance was striking to Alice, just the same. The shape of the features, the wide eyes, the wry twist of the lips, the deep hollows of the cheeks - they could have been the same man, really, save for the man in the portrait was younger, and did not have poisoned-orange hair.

"And you thought I wouldn't remember you," Alice murmured aloud, attempting to picture a tall, elegant hat atop the young man's head. "I shall certainly know you when we meet again."

For a moment, the painting's eyes seemed to glint an odd jade green, and Alice caught her breath before realizing it was probably just a trick of the light - that, and the obvious weariness of her mind.

Alice blinked, and then rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. Perhaps she would partake of some tea, after all, and then bathe and retire early. If her eyes were playing tricks on her already, then her imaginative mind would soon follow, and she wasn't quite prepared for that just yet.

**Alice** tried to smile at the obnoxious busybody of a wife of one of her late father's friends, but honestly, she couldn't quite remember how. Finding Underland again had given her back her Muchness, and taken away everything she used to be, including the polite smiles that covered her utter disinterest in society and those who persisted in wading through it.

Her mother and sister had insisted in giving this _fue de joie_, but Alice was counting the minutes until it would be 'acceptable' to retire to her rooms. She was so bored she had taken to imagining Thackery serving the refreshments, the thought of the mad hare's nonsense chatter and wild pitches making her laugh outloud despite herself.

Alice finally left the light and movement of the ballroom to seek temporary solice in her father's old library, but when she rounded the corner into the hallway, she saw her sister Margaret and her pig of a husband, Lowell, standing nearby, talking.

Unsure of what to do, Alice loitered by the wall, listening.

" - really must be on my way," Lowell was insisting in a low murmur, and incensed, Alice angrily thought of the pretty blond widow he'd been giving the glad eye to all evening.

Margaret's pretty face looked pinched, her eyes worried. "But the ball, Lowell, and Colleen's wedding is at the weekend - "

"I apologize, darling, but I see no choice in it. Now go back to your lovely ball, and I shall return as early as possible - the beginning of the week, perhaps. Have a nice time." Lowell kissed Margaret's cheek lightly and wasted no time in excusing himself.

Margaret looked desperately sad for a moment before blinking and dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief. Then she picked up her skirts, plastered a cool smile on her face, and headed back down the hall to the ballroom, making Alice have to duck into a shadow to avoid being seen.

Alice watched after her sister with a scowl. Another one of Lowell's 'business' emergencies had come up, apparently. Ugh! Whatever she'd seen in that bounder Lowell, Alice would never know. It seemed, however, that Margaret knew more about her racketty husband's indiscretions than she let on about.

Alice's heart hurt for her. If she knew Lowell was an adulterer, why was she so accepting of it?

"_As the fool thinks, so the bell clinks," _went the old saying. A foolish person believes what he desires.

But why wasn't she fighting it? It was obviously hurting her.

_Because despite it all, she loved him anyway._

Alice frowned. She had seen the expression that had been on Margaret's face before, that look of resigned hopelessness, that flash of pain and yearning - of unconditional love.

"_You could stay," _a familiar, kindly voice echoed in her head, making her heart ache, her conscience flare.

Alice froze, looking blindly at the wall, staring past the green watered-satin wallpaper as she realized how foolish she'd been. How could she not have known?

The Hatter had been in love with her.

**She'd **left. He'd asked her to stay, said and done everything but given her an outright confession, and still she'd blithely gone on her merry way, thoughtlessly leaving behind the best friend she'd ever known, the one person who'd ever accepted or understood her. She'd been selfish and careless, and he'd loved her regardless.

_'I might have loved him,' _Alice thought remorsefully. _'If only I had taken the time...'_

She had to go back. She had to apologize for looking but not _seeing_. For not making certain he knew how important he was to her.

Alice didn't know what she would say to him, but she wasted no time, for if so much time had passed here, it was her bitterest enemy in Underland. She sat before her desk, reading over the note she'd written to explain everything, to say goodbye to her mother, sister, and dear Lord Ascot - but it didn't really explain anything. How did one tell one's mother that she was running away to live in a fantasy land, that she much preferred the company of talking animals, flowers, and mad milliners? Perhaps she was trying to live in her own fool's paradise.

By dawn, Alice had given up on trying to tell the truth, and ended up writing that as she'd accomplished her father's dream, and had quite enough of business, and society, she'd accepted a sailor's proposal of marriage. They were running away to elope, and planned to make their home in the States. When they got settled, she would write, she promised - and she _would_, Alice determined, _if_ she could somehow send letters from Underland. To Margaret, a simple post script: "End it or mend it." Her sister couldn't miss her meaning, as things had certainly become unbearable for her, and something simply must be done.

Leaving the letter on the desk with an cat-shaped glass paperweight on it, Alice gathered the two leather satchels she'd filled with things she'd deemed impossible to leave behind, and quietly made her way from the silent house. She had to hurry across the lawns to the stables, knowing that her mother's servants would soon be up and about.

Once inside the stables, Alice paused to listen for the stirring of the groom or his lads, and then quickly set about saddling a gentle but swift gray mare. Her equestrianism was never in question, but it was difficult, and took longer to do than she thought, for though she'd seen the task accomplished many times, she'd never had to handle the heavy saddles and pads herself - nor would she have been allowed to.

By the time Alice left the stables, the sun was breaking over the horizon. She would have to ride quickly if she wanted to arrive at Lord Ascot's country manor before everyone was awake, and make her way through the acres of gardens and forests to find the rabbit hole.

Choosing a direct course across the wooded fields instead of the twists and turns of the main road, Alice urged her mount on. An intense sense of relief made her giddy, and she grinned into the cool, damp morning air as her horse carried her ever closer to _him_.

**_To be Continued_**

A/N: Hi, I thought I'd go ahead and post this since it might be a little while before I can update _'Strange Asylum'. _I'm having a ridiculous amount of complications from what was _supposed_ to be a very simple out-patient surgery. I promise to get back to it soon. Thanks so much for reading. Also, the quote at the beginning of the story - I can't seem to find a name to give credit, so if you recognize it, let me know.


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